


My Last Smoke

by ghettoassenglishman



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Smoking, They meet on a fire escape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:14:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3718159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" “I don't do polite.” He muses, shaking his head. </p><p>“I can fucking tell.” Ian mutters underneath his breath, Mickey only just catches it and flips the guy off with pure intention. "</p><p> </p><p>We met on the fire escape above our apartment buildings, where we both go up to smoke AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Last Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this AU and had to write it... so hope you all like it? ILL KEEP WRITING TO MAKE THINGS MORE CHEERY AS WE ARE ALL BROKEN AFTER THE SEASON FINALE.. 
> 
> so hey, you wanna prompt me (I'm currently working on one right now, so I can get yours done very soon) 
> 
> im-an-angel-y0u-ass.tumblr.com

After a hectic, balls-up, shit day Mickey wanted to just sleep through the whole night, but first – he needed a smoke, it was his last cigarette in his packet and he was going to relish the taste, the feel, and the relief of inhaling and exhaling the toxins. The landlord persisted that _no one_ , not even Mickey Milkovich, could smoke in their apartments, so Mickey went where he always drowned in his wallowing self-pity. The fire escape at the top of the building. Usually it would be empty, the whole building was pretty empty, and it was the only time Mickey felt like he could just get _away_ from what he called his life. 

 

When he pushed through, the broken fire escape door, his eyes catch red. Red fucking hair. There was someone else in his spot and he was ready to launch. Well...he was until he saw how fucking hot the dude was – but, he wasn't going to let him off easy for taking his  _peaceful_ place. “What the fuck you doing?” Mickey blurts out, flicking up his lighter and lighting up his smoke.

 

The tall, redhead jolted in a jump, his eyes suddenly widening at the thug standing behind him, his own cigarette nearly falling out of his mouth. “Oh shit, I'm Ian..-” Mickey eyes him, annoyed. “Er, your new neighbour?”

 

“Like I fucking give a shit.” Mickey barks, pulling a drag from his smoke, he walks over to the trashed sofa in the middle of the roof, planting himself onto it. All he needed now was silence, and it was obvious this fuck wasn't granting any wishing soon. Ian looks at him, as if he's waiting an answer. “What the fuck you looking at?” Mickey asks, his words hitting hard.

 

“You not going to tell me your name?” Ian asks, a hitch of laughter in his throat. Something about the small, grumpy-ass thug made him amused.

 

Mickey shrugs, blowing out circles in the exhaled smoke. “Now, why the fuck would I do that?” Was this guy waiting for a punch, was that a thing now? Maybe the guy had a fetish for those things.

 

“I dunno, maybe because its polite?” Ian nearly rolls his eyes, he flicks the dangling ash from his smoke. Mickey scoffs, it was pretty amusing that this kid thought he could make him polite, _him._ “I don't do polite.” He muses, shaking his head. 

 

“I can fucking tell.” Ian mutters underneath his breath, Mickey only just catches it and flips the guy off with pure intention. “You look like a...James, er no, a Luke?-” By Mickey's reaction to his list, he takes that as a no. “Michael, _yeah,_ you look like a Michael.” Ian adds, grinning with a titled head. “ _Mickey.”_ He rolls off his tongue and Mickey is in pure carnage, shock of how the hell the kid could know that. 

 

Shaking it off, because this guy couldn't know he was totally checking him out, he scowls. “Fuck off, Firecrotch, you ain't knowing my name – you won't ever know my name.” He scolds himself for creating such a nickname, but it doesn't look that effective on the redhead.

 

Ian wiggles his brows, flicking his fag but over the edge of the building. “Anyway, I'm going in.” Ian admits, acting as if Mickey actually wanted to know where he was going.

 

“Good. Sick of hearing your bullshit.” Mickey mutters, hoping his smoke would last longer – there was no way he was walking down the stairs with Ian, especially when the guy was so fucking annoying.

 

Ian smirks, fixing his hair around his crown, as he turns with a wave he shouts. “Night,  _Mickey.”_ Then the door closes and Mickey is finally able to breath. There was one thing that was eating at his mind, how the hell did the guy know his name? He'd never met him-

 

Oh.

 

“Fucking name tags.” Mickey rips the white badge off his shirt, grunting at the fact he hadn't even noticed it was there – he looked like a fucking tool now.

 

\---

 

It went on for weeks,Each night it got worse. Every time he made it to the top of the fire escape, Ian was there. Mickey would not speak; he'd just sit, smoke, flip the redhead off and leave. This night though, Ian made it his mission not to stop talking. Mickey had made his way up the stairs and the idiot was sat in his place against the old, worn couch. “Get the fuck out of my seat.”

 

“Hasn't got your name on it.” Ian snarls, leaning back against the couch in the lounge position.

 

Gritting his teeth, Mickey notices a can of spray paint by the door, he leans down and dangles his smoke between his teeth. Storming over he sprays his name, in black, across the arm of the chair – in which Ian's arm is sprawled over. “Has now.” He chucks the can, more smug than he intended, but it seemed to work.

 

“You fucking dick!” Ian leaps from the chair, his arm covered in black spray paint, if Mickey was shadowed by a cloud of cigarette smoke he might of even said it looked good on him. The redhead pulls at his shirt, stained in black. “You've got it all over my new shirt, what the _fuck.”_

 

Mickey nonchalantly shrugs, sitting himself down proudly. “Sorry princess, but its your fucking fault.” Ignoring the scowl from across the roof, he pants the arm of the chair. “I told you this is  _my_ seat.” 

 

Ian huffs out in anger, his nose flaring. Mickey wouldn't admit, and hoped he didn't, that the redhead did look attractive in pissed-off mode. “What are you, twelve?” He snarls, still trying to get the black paint off his shirt.

 

“I'm old enough to kick your ass.” Mickey yells back, kicking his leg up against the box sat before the chair. This guy really did have a death-wish, but for some reason Mickey found himself feeling unusual around him, like the shakes in his hands weren't just from his nicotine rush.

 

The redhead hums, inappreciatively, giving up with trying to fix what Mickey had wrecked. “Old enough to break a hip more like.” He peers over the side of the roof, dangling his smoke in-between his fingers. He hears Mickey stand up, his shoes cracking against the burnt out wood lying on the roof-top.

 

“Lets be fucking serious here, I'd beat your ass hands down.” Mickey challenges, as Ian turns he nearly smiles at the pure self-confidence that Mickey had – something twisted inside of him, telling him that maybe he should find out more out this guy – but through the issue of nature, Mickey was a complete asshole and it showed.

 

Boosting himself, Ian sticks out his chest a little. “I did ROTC I'd totally kick yours.” The fact of the matter, he didn't really know who would win in a fight between the two. Mickey looked like a scrapper, someone who didn't stop until atleast a ton of blood was shed. Ian, he used his mind, using tactics to find all the weak pressure points. He hadn't yet worked out Mickey's.

 

The older boy scoffs, flapping his hands up in the air. “Woop-di-fucking-do army boy!” He voices echoes across the roof, his eyes sharp with poison. “You ain't going to get anywhere knowing how to pitch a tent, so give it the fuck up.” Mickey hadn't expected it to come out like it had, but the internal fear inside of him pressured him to use it.

 

Like a flick of a switch, Ian's eyes changed from innocence to a raging bull. “Well, you ain't going to get anywhere being a fucking asshole, but  _hey,_ that's how life is.” He chucks his smoke over the edge, shoving at Mickey's chest. “Its not like I got anywhere anyway, so fuck  _ you.”  _

 

Mickey dodges another shove, letting the ball of fire storm past him. “Don't get your panties in a fucking twist.” Ian turns, the devil present in his eyes, Mickey wants to close his mouth – but for some reason, he felt guilt. “Firecrot-”

 

Slamming the door open, Ian turns, his words cold. “Fuck off, Mickey. You don't give a shit remember?” Then he was gone – Mickey had never felt so shit, or confused how the hell things could change up so quickly. Endless days of seeing Ian trying to talk his way into Mickey's life, and suddenly the redhead bursts like an exploding balloon.

 

 

\---

 

It had been weeks since Mickey had seen the redhead, he hadn't even caught him in the small corridors of the apartment blocks, it felt a little more lonely on the roof-top now. He hadn't noticed it when Ian had been biting his ear off with shitty stories, but he really fucking missed that guy. He had just neared the end of his last fag, when the door squeaks open. Mickey's eyes dart up and latch onto a slumped redhead. 

 

“I'm fucking leaving, don't go batshit crazy on me.” Mickey surrenders his hands up in the air, he deposes his but into a bucket of water and leads his way towards the door. A pale arm stops him in his tracks. “You don't have to leave just because I'm here, it was your place first.”

 

Mickey was finally up close to Ian, and for the first time he could take in all his features. The dark had shadowed his face and the, recently formed, purple bruise was clear against his pale face. “What happened to your fucking face?” He asks, forgetting that his mind usually goes on with its own accord.

 

The blood drains from Ian's face, he consciously palms his cheek and then drops his hand. “Nothing. It's fucking nothing.” He barges past Mickey, heading over to the chair where Mickey usually sat. The redhead took his seat, for the first time Mickey didn't bite at him, and sunk into the cushion.

 

Mickey doesn't ask any-more questions, its clear as fucking day that the guy didn't want to speak about it. “You want a smoke?” He offers, pulling one out of his pack. The redhead smiles weakly, nodding, and Mickey complies to reciprocate and hands him the cancer-stick.

 

“You got a light?” Ian asks, voice slightly croaky.

 

“Er, yeah.” He stutters, patting his jeans for the green-cheap light. Ian grabs it, lighting up his smoke, his hands are bruised and shaky as he passes it back to Mickey.

 

Mickey isn't entirely sure what to do that this point, he shifts awkwardly on his feet. It wasn't really in his nature, but he felt that he needed to find out what the hell happened to the redhead. Like some sort of protectiveness holding him? So, he takes a place next to Ian, lighting up another cigarette.

 

Ian speaks before he needs to, his voice crumbling. “My boyfriend broke it off with me.” He explains bluntly. Mickey nearly chokes on his breath, one) Ian was fucking  _gay?_ 2) Why would someone break it off with Ian, like really? Wasn't having some hot, clearly annoying, but hot a good thing?

 

“What, and he gave you a fucking shiner as a going away present?” Mickey asks, glancing at the redhead who for the first time didn't look up when he was speaking. Ian fiddled with his fingers, the smoke burning out against them.

 

“He cheated on me.” Ian starts, taking a long drag from his fag for an ounce of strength. “I caught him, then _I_ pissed him off.” He starts to laugh, a little too manically, “He cheated on me and _I_ end up getting fucking punched.” 

 

Mickey feels anger brew in his stomach, for a reason he isn't too sure of yet. “You throw some hits back?”

“Like I had the fucking chance too, he took a run for it as soon as the cops pulled.” Ian slumps further into his frame, finally taking a risk of looking towards the strangely-quiet man beside him.

 

“Fucking dick.” Mickey mutters, earning a grateful nod from the redhead. Without questioning him further, he leans to the crate – he had brought earlier for himself- by his feet. “You want a beer, its shit but it'll stop the stinging for a while?” When was he ever this generous?

 

The taller boy smiles shyly, his cheeks blushing as he tries to hide it. “Yeah, urm, thanks.” He takes it happily, popping the cap off the top, they sit in silence for what seems forever, until Ian gets up and calls it a night.

 

\---

 

Once again, Mickey is sat in his seat on the roof-top – he would of lied if he said he wasn't waiting for a certain someone to appear in a couple of seconds. Just as expected, the fire escape door opened and out stepped the redhead, looking more presentable than two nights before. Mickey lobbed his pack of cigarettes towards Ian, watching as the man struggled to get in his grasp.

 

“Someone beat the shit out of my ex.” Ian simply stated, his eyes unsure, as he hovered by the door of the roof-top. Pulling out his own lighter, he lit up his smoke and chucked the pack back towards Mickey.

 

Mickey freezes for a second, then leans against his knees. “Dick had what was coming to him.” He rectifies, trying to sound as at ease as possible. In habit, he pats his pockets for his lighter, until he realises he doesn't even need it.

 

“You wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you?” Ian's words roll off his tongue, as he shuffled against the ground, kicking a plank of wood that was nearby his feet. Mickey doesn't answer, he looks away to avoid any eye contact, Ian carries on, moving forward. “I mean, he was a _dick,_ but a lot of people liked him, _and_ you were, kinda, the only person I told about it.” 

 

“Well you obviously told someone else because I didn't do shit.” Mickey raises his hands defensively. Ian couldn't see him being some bitch on a leash, he had a reputation to up hold. Ian surrenders, with a chuckle. “Alright. Alright, Jesus.”

 

The redhead takes a seat next to Mickey, his knee brushing against the older boys obliviously. “I just wanted to thank the person who did it, you know.” Ian rubs a hand against the back of his neck, nervously. “I mean, he gave me some good fucking hidings over the past couple of weeks.” Mickey watches as Ian feels his wrists, marks still bruising his skin, he suddenly felt sick. “But, it feels good that someone finally showed him a lesson, or..uh, whatever.” Ian glances over at Mickey, as if he already knew that it was Mickey who had done it.

 

Mickey knew all about _dick boyfriends,_ Mandy had enough of them for him to beat the shit out of. “I might be a dick, and an even bigger asshole, but even I know not to hit the person you're meant to be in love with.” Sentiment did not speak Milkovich language, so where was all this sorrow coming from?

 

Ian bites at the side of his lip, that still seemed busted but it had cooled down by now.“He didn't love me.” He admitted, blowing out a gust of air that was trapped in his lungs. “ _Used_ me more like. Lets say he paid me enough to keep me around.” The redhead looks ashamed, his head ducked low, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

 

Was this anger he felt? - he hardly knew the guy, but yet – he had beat the shit out of his ex boyfriend, and now – he felt more angry that he was being _paid_ to be someone’s, not even boyfriend, more like _escort._ “Like a fucking prostitute? What the fuck man?”

 

“Don't be too subtle Mickey.” Ian exhales, a pain still a fracture in his voice.

 

Mickey shrugs, unsure what to do at this point so he goes with nudging Ian's foot. “Why the fuck would you _even_ stay with that asshole?” Ian doesn't answer straight away, so Mickey takes it as an opportunity to contribute suggestions. “Was his dick _that_ good?”

 

Bluntly, Ian answers. “Wouldn't know, I don't bottom.” Mickey chokes on his breath, this kid sure didn't give a shit – and _fuck,_ could it ever be more convenient that Mickey liked it up the ass? Fuck.

 

“Why the fuck you stay then? Getting beat up doesn't sound like a fucking holiday.” Mickey tuts, lolling his head against the back of the couch.

 

Ian runs a hand through his messy hair, his teeth nearly chattering against the cold. “Had nothing to lose I guess.” He looks blankly at his fingers, addressing them one by one. His voice croaks,“Plus, I had no one to actually talk about that shit.”

 

Mickey isn't entirely sure when he mind had taken over his mouth, but obviously it was at this point. It seemed his barriers couldn't keep in the ultimate words that he had been holding back throughout the whole conversation. Without thinking he mutters, “You had me.”

 

For his luck, Ian didn't even hear, he sleepily turns to the side and squints. “What?”

 

“Er,Nothing.” Mickey stutters, mentally punching himself in the face. As he moves his eyes elsewhere, he feels the other man getting closer, his eyes flicker back and forth and he's initally telling himself to run, but something was pinning him down – maybe it was the thought that Ian might actually want to _fuck_ him, was that too ambitious? Or it was the fact Ian could beat the shit out of him – either way, Ian was getting too close to comfort.

Mickey shifts to say something, utterly irrelevant, when his face bumps into Ian's and their lips clash together. Ian's hand finds its way to the back of his head and Mickey remains frozen on the spot – kissing wasn't something he _ever_ did, especially when it was Ian Gallagher. But this..- he could do this, maybe. Just as he begins to reciprocate, Ian pulls away drastically.

 

“Fuck..-” He splutters, wiping his mouth. “Shit, I'm sorry...I thought – Well, I don't know what I thought really. I, er, shit, I've gotta go.” Ian frantically rubs a hand down his face, trying to gather himself in-front of the dumbfounded other still in shock against the couch. “I didn't mean to assume, well I did, I just – I'm gonna go.” Ian runs off, unexpectedly, towards the fire escape door. With full leverage, he opens the door and disappears down the stairs, loudly cursing to himself.

 

Mickey had never been struck speechless in his life.

 

\---

 

He didn't know what he was doing. Was this reasonable? Was he actually doing this because in his mind he was still sitting on the roof-top trying to work out what the fuck happened. What Mickey had come to realise, was that Ian hadn't noticed that he was gay as _hell,_ or the fact that he'd been drooling over him for the past weeks they had talked by the fire escape. In some cases, Ian Gallagher was very intelligent, in this case – he was the dumbest fucker alive.

 

Mickey raises his fist at the apartment door, he knows is Ians.

 

One knock-

 

Two knocks-

 

Three-

 

The door swings open, Ian's eyes widen and his mouth lets out a groan that doesn't sound to plausible. “If you've come to beat my ass, just get it over with-”

 

“You didn't finish it.” Mickey mutters, incredibly nervous and kicking himself at how dumb _he_ sounded. Ian dazed, tries to work out what he's talking about – had he left his smoke? His beer? What? A fist to the face?

 

“Finish what?”

 

Biting his lip, Mickey closes his eyes and drags Ian closer by the tuft of his collar. “This, asshole.” Mickey closes the gap, latching their lips together roughly, it takes a while through the mere shock for Ian to finally give in to him. Mickey releases him, falling back a little, once he relaxes he pulls out his pack of smokes, revealing on upturned cigarette left.

 

“It's my last smoke, you wanna go up and have half?” Mickey asks, lips still pink, eyes still glistening.

 

Shyly, Ian nods, taking the pack into his own hands. They both head up to the fire escape, and Mickey would never be able to count how many times they ended up there – even after they moved into the same apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> Id like to explain the upside down cigarette in the end ahahhaa
> 
> People might already do this put when I smoke my pack of fags I always up-turn one of them and then that one will be the last one to smoke - its weird but its apparently good luck so ahah


End file.
